


Let's Get Serious

by Apple_Fairy



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: AsaKiku Secret Santa 2016, M/M, Rival Relationship, Rivalry, teikoku asakiku
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 07:37:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9113071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apple_Fairy/pseuds/Apple_Fairy
Summary: In a fit of poor decisions and short tempers, Arthur and Kiku decide to have a sparring match together to see who is the better fighter. But as all things go with them, emotions will go wild and affections even wilder. They're more then rivals together and it's the way they keep aggravating each other that leads to something more. Imperial!Japan/Pirate!England





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MudaMuda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MudaMuda/gifts).



> Hello! This is a gift fic I wrote for tumblr user a-whole-lasagna for the asakiku secret santa event. They asked for teikoku and I thought it was time the ship, as an enemies-with-benefits ship, got their own 'sparring session turns into angry makeouts' fic lol
> 
> I hope you can enjoy the fic

It had begun like everything else does with them– an argument.

The day had been hot, with the sun beating down on them with the same force as their words for each other. The air was thick with the cries of cicadas, and it was humid, suffocating, like forcing yourself against a current. Arthur and Kiku, perhaps too tired already from the heat, were lounging like bored and irritated cats on Kiku’s veranda, chatting. Despite the oppressive weather, they could still manage to argue with the other.

Arthur had been bragging about his voyages on the seas. He had claimed he had fought off at least three Spaniards by himself, at the same time. He was bragging about how even though he’d run out of ammo for his pistol he was able to take care of them with a sword alone. Kiku had already been simmering up to that point, as he always simmers when Arthur talks about himself. It didn’t help that he had to endure this in the heat either. It all sounded like a bloated lie. And if it was true, it would be an indirect blow to Kiku’s pride _anyway_ , so no matter how you spun it, Kiku would hate it. So, Kiku called him out on it.

“I have to say,” he had smiled, “you always tell the best stories.”

So, of course, Arthur got defensive. His self worth was at stake so of course he gets petty. They began arguing: Kiku says there’s no way he was able to take down three men with a sword alone. Arthur claims he’s clearly never seen him battle. Kiku attacks his fighting style. Arthur attacks Kiku’s.

“It’s because you’re bound to lose with your’s.” Arthur, red-faced and annoyed, hissed, “That’s why you don’t understand.”

Kiku gets even more defensive, but not as fiery. If Arthur was all flailing hands and pointing fingers and accusatory tones, then Kiku was a quiet, stoic figure with calm and cutting words. Kiku defends his country’s fighting styles. He’s seen European fencing. He admits it’s pretty. He admits that’s all it really is.

At this point, they’re both defensive, burning up from the summer heat, bearing blows to their pride. So it’s Arthur who just throws up his hands and declares:

“Why not put it to the test then!”

Kiku, after a moment, sadistically agrees.

And Osaka, patient and sweet Osaka, had brought them the bamboo swords just as Kiku ordered and was thankful to be dismissed after. Most of the servants at Kiku’s house have seen them fought before. Absolutely _no one_ wants to see them fight again.

(They’re brutal and childish and ugly and they respect Kiku more than this, but clearly around Arthur, Kiku doesn’t respect himself enough. Arthur is always able to claw Kiku down to his level and it’s never a pretty sight.)

They’re in one of the courtyards, Arthur brandished of his coat and hat, Kiku in his kimono and hakama. Arthur weighs the weapon in his hand. He sneers.

“Too scared to use real swords?” He guesses. Kiku rolls his shoulders, and doesn’t flinch.

“No. I simply don’t wish to trouble my servants. It would be too much to ask them to clean up all your blood.”

“ _My_ blood?”

Kiku smirks. He doesn’t go any further.

Although, if Arthur dwells on it a bit, he can see the logic in it. They’re immortal, sure, and this wasn’t political. This was just immortal men playing at war, not engaged in it. They’d probably be fine. But being immortal is also _messy_ and _gruesome_ when put into play. The wounds would heal, but it would take so long, the fun would die out sooner than they’d want. There was no need to draw blood, and be vicious about. Hell, they’re not deranged, they’re just cocky. So Arthur just assumes a fencing position and Kiku assumes a kendo stance. Arthur rushes first.

The teachings are clearly different when put into practice. Arthur’s footwork is impeccable and fluid, while Kiku’s blocks are well-timed in comparison. The sound of bamboo hitting bamboo echoes through the space, rivaling the loud chorus of the cicadas. If they were better men, they would let their fighting do the talking. The thing is, they’re not.

“So,” Arthur grits between his teeth, thrusting forward. Kiku avoids it. “Is it normal to run away like this?”

Immediately, so fast that Arthur doesn’t see it, Kiku slashes. He blocks in return, his arms shaking.

“I’m simply biding my time.” Kiku responds, a threat and a respect to his voice. Arthur throws him back. Kiku assumes stance once more. They go at this more, and it just feels right. Arthur is assertive, his attacks are relentless, the less he hits the more he gets angry. Kiku seems to weigh this and he blocks and evades until Arthur is too angry to notice and then Kiku strikes. Somehow, Arthur is always able to catch him at the last minute. He is a quick reaction to the attack, and they  are always at a standstill.

The conversation is getting more impatient.

“The way you fight is cheap.” Arthur accuses.

“It’s smart. I’m sorry not everyone,” Kiku blocks again, his voice catching, “can be as reckless as you.”

“You’re the one who’s struggling!”

Kiku winces at the next block. “You look like a child when you fight.” He spits back. He attacks again, harder this time, faster even. Arthur stumbles when he protects himself, and he’s taken off guard when Kiku keeps going on the offensive.

“Oh you decided to finally fight back?” Arthur laughs, but Kiku doesn’t respond and his focus is what makes Arthur worry. He’s trying to keep up, and it’s hard. He’s never thought of Kiku having so much stamina, he’s always so quiet and holds himself well. But perhaps, this entire time, he’s just saving it up until he finally got the chance at him. Either way, Arthur has underestimated him. His footwork is getting sloppy as he tries to keep up, and finally he pushes him back. They’re panting. Quickly, Arthur rolls up his sleeves. Kiku smirks.

“Are you finally getting serious?” he asks. But Arthur doesn’t respond, resumes stance and lunges. Kiku is already building a strategy to this, so muscle memory kicks in and he prepares to block. But then Arthur’s legs shift slightly.

Kiku feels a blunt force hit his left knee, and he goes down. He’s shocked, but his reaction is quick, and he barely has the chance to block the hit from above. The hold on his sword is weak, and he’s struggling to hold his position. Arthur smirks above him like a cruel god. Kiku’s blood boils. The tides have turned and Kiku looks awkward and weak as he tries to get away from Arthur’s strikes, trying to regain ground.

“You’re fighting dirty!”

“And?” Arthur laughs, clearly reveling in this, “You wanted to see how I fight, didn’t you?”

Kiku rolls away, narrowly missing Arthur’s strike, and Arthur turns his head, looking under his lids at him.

“How else do you think pirates fight?”

(Kiku hates to admit it, but alongside the anger, there is a shiver of pleasure.)

He rights himself again, and he’s panting. The cicadas are still crying, the air is still heavy, the sun is too bright. Arthur stands up again, and it’s striking to Kiku just how tall he is, just how impeding he looks. It’s easy to say that Arthur’s bravado is all trying to cover up what’s not there. But that’s not entirely it; he’s earned it. Arthur is capable and smart and young. The bravado is just noise, but it’s also not entirely a lie.

His blond hair shines in the sunlight. Kiku winces. This day is too damn hot.

“What?” Arthur breaks the silence, hand on one hip, “Are you giving up now because we can’t do this _properly_?”

Kiku flinches. His emotions are subtle as always but Arthur can read his actions. His hand grips the sword tighter, he rolls his shoulders again, and he slides into stance once more. Kiku’s riled up now. Arthur’s pleased to see just how deep he got under his skin.

“This just proves to me how inexperienced you are.” Kiku shoots back, “If you have to resort to dirty tactics.”

Arthur grins. They go at it again.

As if falling into a dance, they fall into their strategies again. It’s almost fluid at a point, they way they can keep rhythm with each other. Arthur is assertive and Kiku is defensive. The only thing is that Kiku is struggling now, as Arthur fights more roughly, more violently. He’s more physical; Kiku has to watch his legs as well as Arthur’s strikes. He fakes out, he attacks lower, he’s more quick and he’s more bitter. These were not things Kiku learned to defend against, so he’s making it up as he goes. He has to break out of what he’s learned to keep up. He does; he does so shakily but relentlessly. As with all things that make Kiku weak, Arthur notices.

“You’re freezing up!” He strikes, but is blocked, “You’re losing!”

“I’m not.” Kiku sneers. A side-sweep, a step back.

“Just drop the formalities and fight me!”

A hit, a parry. A strike to the side, another step back. These things aren’t mixing anymore. Arthur is quick and fast limbs and Kiku’s stance is too stiff in comparison. He’s not attacking anymore because he just isn’t given the chance. Kiku is staying with what he has learned but as a result he can’t get into the fight. All he can do is dodge and run.

“Let it go already!” Arthur shouts at attention, “This why you’re losing! You always do this!”

Kiku swings the sword, narrowly blocking Arthur’s next strike. Their arms shake at the equal forces fighting against each other. Kiku grits his teeth.

“What do you mean?” Kiku hisses.

“Playing nice like this. You think you’ll win this way?” Arthur smirks. “This is why you can’t fight on the western stage.”

As if lighting a bomb, Kiku shoves against him, some newfound strength pumping through his veins. He’s angry. Arthur knows he’s made him angry, because he knows all of the weak spots that keep Kiku going, and he just hit one of them. But Arthur is not kind, so he doesn’t back off.

“You know it too!” He yells, before Kiku rushes forward. But Arthur is ready for this so he blocks effortlessly. The tables have turned; now Arthur’s movements are more calculated while Kiku is young and blind rage.

“If you keep this up,” he blocks another hit, “you’re just going to become another colony! Wise up, Kiku!”

Arthur half-wonders why he’s even trying to teach him. The simple enough answer would be to say he’s worried about him, but that’s not completely it. Maybe he wants to say he’s better then him. Maybe he’s trying to put a hierarchy in place and make sure Kiku can’t make it without him.

Or hell, maybe it was love. If you could call it that.

“I don’t need you-!” Kiku strikes again, “You of all people to tell me that!”

Kiku keeps attacking further and he’s trying to keep up with Arthur’s expert footwork. He’s not even trying a strategy anymore, he’s just trying to get a strike in. He just wants to wipe the smug look off of Arthur’s face. He just wants him stop _talking_. Kiku’s feet stumble, his mind is in a million places at once and Arthur takes this rich opportunity to go back on the offense. He pushes forward and Kiku struggles to keep up with his raw strength.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“A pathetic-!” Kiku stumbles again, “A pathetic and lonely brat-!”

Arthur feints and elbows Kiku in the face. He cuts him off mid-sentence and Arthur’s breathing heavily, afraid of what would’ve come next. The other nation stumbles, Kiku’s face turned away. There is a moment of quiet, a real weight to what has been done and Arthur is strangely proud when he sees the red mark begin to stain Kiku’s lovely face. But then Kiku turns his head slowly to meet his gaze.

Once, long ago, Arthur had looked through Kiku’s collection of woodprints. It had been a quieter and calmer afternoon, and he can remember the feeling of rough bound books in his hands. He had been shocked when he had flipped a page and didn’t see another drawing of court women or the streets of Edo, but of images of hell.

It had been grotesque and sharp, men being tortured by oni as King Enma watched on. Arthur wasn’t disturbed as much as he had been surprised. When he thinks of Kiku, he was expecting elegance and class, not uncensored violence.

When he had asked Kiku about it, Kiku had only smiled like he was keeping a secret.

And now Arthur knows this part of him had always been there. Because the look Kiku gives him is just like those red-faced oni baring their fangs. It’s always been there. Arthur had just made the mistake of bringing it out.

Kiku doesn’t cry. His cheek is swelling up, but of course Kiku doesn’t cry. He only charges forward, and Arthur finds himself losing his footing with Kiku’s speed. Strange; something’s changed in him.

“What? Now you’re angry? Because I’m telling the truth?” Arthur laughs as he avoids another slash, trying not to be frightened by the look Kiku’s giving him, “You know it’s true; you know this is holding you back!”

Harsh truths are poured upon Kiku like scalding hot water, and Arthur wonders if he’s still listening or if he’s just lashing out now. He wonders if he’s provoking him. There was something deeply unsettling in the fact Kiku wasn’t even tearing up. But it’s there, something in his foot work, something that says Kiku still has it under control.

He’s planning something, but Arthur is riding an egotistical high that’s trying to cover up insecurities, so he doesn’t heed the warnings.

“Come on! I’m trying to _help_ you-”

It’s then Kiku smashes the hilt of his sword on Arthur’s face.

There’s a deafening crack. Arthur’s head is spinning, his vision blurred, and he’s stumbling. He drops his weapon and it drops to the ground with a hollow thud. A pair of hands grip his collar. Before he can find the world again, he’s pulled forward and Kiku gives him a fast headbutt.

Arthur goes down. He tastes blood.

He’s struggling to breath and the ringing in his ears won’t shut up. The view of the sky he’s given is unusually peaceful given his circumstance. A weight settles on his chest, and he’s pulled up by his collar again. Kiku watches him coldly, breath haggard, sitting on Arthur’s chest.

“I’ll say this only once,” Kiku warns, “ _I don’t need your help._ ”

Arthur is trying to think of what to say, but he’s too amazed. He feels like a man standing before a god and he feels so small.

“I know I’m an outsider to all of you. I know I’m not taken seriously.” Kiku gulps, the sun shining behind him brightly, “But I’ve been on this Earth much longer then you know. And if I have to prove myself to the world, then I will.”

Arthur can barely breath, Kiku is so heavy on his chest. The change in perspective is humbling and Arthur considers Kiku for a moment. If in that moment Kiku is a god, then Arthur is a worshipper at his mercy.

Arthur loves Kiku for as many reasons as he hates him. Kiku is ambitious and he can be cold. He can be as vicious as he is lovely. In this moment of independent defiance, it only shows all the more why Arthur respects him. Because Arthur also knows what it’s like to be an outsider and Arthur also knows how it feels to take revenge on the world that forgot you. And yet, there’s more going through Arthur’s mind then this. Emotions are running fast and free throughout his entire being and it’s not just admiration he feels but the thrill of a challenge.

This man is most certainly his equal.

Kiku wears vengeance and hate so well. He wears it in a way that Arthur finds unbelievably _erotic_.

Arthur swallows blood, and dares to speak:

“Then what does that make me?”

Once again, Arthur dares to make Kiku put a label on their relationship. Kiku doesn’t hesitate to take on this threat.

“An ends to a means.” he says darkly, “A stepping stone.”

Arthur’s not hurt because this has gone past a petty argument. Kiku is subtle with his emotions, but Arthur has learned to read his body language rather than his words. Kiku’s chest rises and falls in a way that says there’s something more that he wants. His flushed visage is more than anger. Arthur knows how to play the conversation in this moment, and he knows what makes Kiku tick. So he slowly smirks, his head still pounding but his haughtiness still in tact.

“Well,” Arthur shakily laughs, “You sure do enjoy me despite that.”

Kiku blushes. Arthur’s not sure if it’s out of rage or excitement. He realizes it’s both when Kiku grits his teeth, eyes closed in frustration, a shaking to his hands. Arthur is always like this in fights, he’s always trying to get the last word in, as if that made him the victor somehow. Kiku is good at swallowing his words and being mature about it, but there’s something in the way Arthur keeps pushing him that always takes him to the breaking point. Even here, now, sitting on his chest, battle won, Kiku still isn’t allowed his satisfaction. The bastard is still _talking_.

“Shut up.” Kiku says finally, opening his eyes, breathing heavy. But the image he’s given is still so irritating. Arthur, forehead red, nose bleeding, slightly teary eyed but mostly smiling. His hair is a mess, he’s flushed and bruised but pleased. Kiku flinches when he feels a hand on his cheek. He hates the heat that blossoms in his stomach.

“ _Make me then_.” Arthur breathes, challenges, almost pleads.

Kiku doesn’t even think twice. He pulls him into a kiss.

Perhaps they’ve had enough of words. Enough of buildup. They’re getting to the point where they’re sick of words and of prodding. The thing with them is, is that they’ve never been just rivals.

The kiss is messy and half ways and eager and hungry. Arthur lets out a whimper into Kiku’s mouth and he holds him for support. And although Kiku indulges in him, he’s still trying to get the last word in himself.

“You can be so,” he breathes, pulling away, “so _frustrating_.”

He pulls him forward again. Arthur’s head is swimming for more than one reason and he buries his fingers into Kiku’s hair. The rushed kiss is interrupted multiple times so that Kiku can sprinkle in whatever insult he can:

“You’re nothing but a prideful bastard,” he kisses him again, comes up for air “with no sense of manners.”

Another kiss, deep and passionate.

“I hate how you get under my skin.”

He goes under again.

“You’re a rotten man, I don’t even know why I associate with you-”

Arthur pulls him back forward this time. Kiku doesn’t fight back, and they kiss furiously, tongues searching mouths, breath mixing with breath. Arthur’s mouth tastes like blood, and Kiku pours all his frustrations into his actions and Arthur feels it. His body feels like it’s on fire and he’s in pain but also dizzy with lust. His hands search Kiku’s body, feeling the strength of his muscles under clothes, only imagining how the skin would feel. Kiku’s insults mean nothing, because all it means is that he’s been on his mind this entire time and he relishes in this thought. He’s a thorn in his side that digs deeper the more he tries to pull away and Arthur _loves_ that.

Kiku goes lower, pulling Arthur’s collar down and Arthur throws his head back letting him take what he wants. Kiku is leaving a trail of dark pink hickeys on his neck as insults bleed out of his mouth. Arthur moans a little, rolling his head to the side and finally opens his eyes.

What he sees doesn’t make Arthur stop. It doesn’t even make Arthur ashamed. In fact, he almost feels like laughing.

“Kiku,” he says plainly. Kiku doesn’t listen. He’s still giving his barrage of contempt.

“Don’t even deserve me you can be so-”

“Kiku.”

“-I hate it, I hate that this always happen-”

“Kiku.”

“You’re a son of a-”

“Kiku!”

“What?!”

Kiku comes back up for air, glaring down at Arthur. His hair has gotten ruffled, his face a faint red, his breath coming out ragged. Arthur enjoys this view a bit before motioning to the side, to the porch.

“We have an audience.”

Kiku stops. He slowly, and dreadfully turns to see who Arthur is talking about. Miraculously all the momentum he had before sputters to a stop when he sees Osaka standing there, wide-eyed, blushing, shocked.

Arthur tries not to laugh when Kiku blushes in mortification, all his cool bravado gone in a second. There is an extremely awkward moment of silence as all parties try to think of what to do in this situation. Osaka stumbles first.

“I, er,” he gulps, “I just heard yelling, I got worried…”

He trails off, equally mortified and Kiku opens his mouth then closes it. Arthur knows for a fact he’s embarrassed to show this side of himself to his servants. Arthur, as much as he loves seeing Kiku in this situation, decides to be merciful and end it there.

“Osaka,” he pipes up from the ground, “be a dear and prepare Kiku’s room for us. We’ll be needing it shortly.”

Kiku, as if it was possible, burns a deeper scarlet. He shoots Arthur a look, but Osaka (probably just as lost) simply bows, and nearly runs out of there. Kiku doesn’t call back to him. He does, however, let go of Arthur and nearly throws him back on the ground.

“Don’t order my men around like that,” He mutters, and gets up from him. Arthur, neck still aching, and the ghost of a touch still on his lips, smiles.

“Are you saying we _won’t_ be going up?”

Kiku dusts himself off and picks up his bamboo sword from the ground. He casts a haughty look at Arthur down his nose. They both look worse for wear, a far cry from anything that should be named an empire. Kiku studies him for a bit, and Arthur realizes how much he’d hate to be told no. Kiku struts over and raises the sword above his head. Arthur flinches.

It lands with a loud thud. When Arthur dares to open his eyes again, he sees it embedded in the ground next to his head. He follows it’s length up, and sees Kiku staring down at him. His hair has fallen around his eyes, and the look he’s giving him isn’t anger. It’s not hate and it’s not love. Instead, Kiku looks at him with hunger.

“When I’m done with you,” Kiku whispers, “you won’t even be able to walk.”

Arthur’s heart stops. His lip quivers. He doesn’t have any comeback for him, and Kiku smiles to see he was finally able to leave him speechless.

He stands back up, and makes his way back to the house. He doesn’t tell Arthur to hurry because he doesn’t have to. There’s something satisfying in hearing Arthur scrambling to get up and chase after him.

In the bedroom, they wordlessly agree to call it a draw.

* * *

Osaka is not sure where to look.

Kiku stands before him, leaning against his bedroom doorway. He’s visibly flushed and out of breath. His hair is a mess and his kimono is tied loosely on him, a sleeve slipping off his shoulder. Kiku has the look of death to his eyes, as if he was mad at himself and simultaneously mad at the world. Osaka has never seen Kiku so disheveled and he doesn’t plan to so he’s trying to look at anywhere _but_ Kiku.

“I’m very sorry to bother you again, Osaka-san.” Kiku says hoarsely, “But may we have some tea sent up?”

Osaka is a hard-worker. It’s just in his blood. But he wonders if he has a long-deserved break waiting for him, because he can be so patient with these two. It had been enough for him to have to ignore the cries of passion he had heard earlier. It had been enough for him to have to hear Arthur screaming for more. But this image of Kiku put in front of him was way too much.

His eyes wander to the spot behind Kiku and he sees Arthur under the covers, bare-chested and satisfied. He smiles and waves.

Kiku catches the look of mortification on Osaka’s face and follows his eyes. When he catches Arthur, the pirate only laughs. Kiku politely reminds Osaka about the tea. Osaka is glad to be given a clean exit again.

When Kiku shuts the door behind him he sighs loudly.

“How,” he asks tiredly, “do I keep ending up here with you?”

Arthur stretches and settles down on the futon, a permanent smile on his face.

“Because you’re the luckiest man in the world?”

Arthur is half-expecting it when Kiku kicks the blankets on him in anger. It’s childish but nothing new. As Arthur struggles out of the sea of fabric he finds Kiku laying back down next to him, back turned to him. There are still faint scratch marks on the nape of his neck, and Arthur is strangely proud of this too.

But Arthur is beginning to come out of the haze of pleasure and it weighs on him what’s been done. Perhaps the image of Kiku turned away from him troubled Arthur. Maybe Arthur’s just too soft to be recklessly cruel. Either way, the things he said are still there, bothering him.

“Kiku.” Arthur whispers. Kiku gives a small hum of acknowledgment. In a moment of weakness, Arthur slips his arms around him, and buries his face into his shoulder. Kiku tenses at this, because it wasn’t an act of selfishness or an act of lust. It felt too sweet for his liking.

“What I said before-”

“Hush.”

Kiku turns around and places a finger on Arthur’s lips and stops him in his tracks.

Arthur wants to say sorry. It’s unusually mature for him, but he wants to tell Kiku he didn’t actually mean it. He wants to tell Kiku he’s powerful. That he has a feeling he can get the world when he wants to and he trusts he probably will someday. That they’ll all see it and probably regret not realizing it before. That people like them were stronger for the obstacles they endured. That, in his eyes, Kiku is beautiful and cruel and powerful. That sometimes he scared him. That more often than not he loved him.

But Kiku knows how to keep him in check. Keep _them_ in check. So he doesn’t give him the chance to say any of this.

“Arthur-san,” Kiku whispers in return, “please don’t be so romantic. I’ll get sick.”

Arthur takes a moment. Then he smiles.

“Oh?” He half laughs, his hands going up Kiku’s sides. “Why? Because you’re madly in love with me?”

He tickles him then, and Kiku can’t catch him in time. Instead he struggles under his hold, trying not to laugh, but failing to do so. His voice is pleasant and innocent, and Arthur marvels at the sight. You can be so terrible but you can also be so lovely, he muses. They dissolve into softer bickering then, more flirting then anything. In the hallway, a servant will wonder if they should interrupt them or not, a tea tray in their hand. To outsiders, it’s odd how they can be enemies one moment and then laughing lovers the next.

Perhaps it could all just be blamed on wild youth.

**Author's Note:**

> The end! Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
